


The Illusion for the Moment

by honeybeehum



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (sorry I suck), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Nygmobblepot Valentine Exchange, Pre-Relationship, post-2.15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9760520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybeehum/pseuds/honeybeehum
Summary: Written for the Nygmobblepot Valentine Exchange for Sharvie.The prompt: Ed decides to let a brainwashed Oswald stay and help him bring down Jim. How does a sweet, innocent Oswald and a devilishly manipulative Ed get along?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sharvie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharvie/gifts).



"I'm here to tell you, Ed, as a friend, violence and anger are not the answer. I am a changed man. Better. And you can change, too. "

 

"Cool," Ed replied, eying the man before him with distaste. "Tempting offer. The thing is…the me I am right now is kind of hitting my stride."

 

The man—Oswald, although he was so far from the Oswald that Ed remembered it almost seemed wrong to refer to him by that name—nodded with a bland smile that communicated nothing more than polite interest, as though Ed weren't referring to his new-found calling in life as a multiple murderer. The feathers sticking to his clothes and hair—had Butch and Tabitha actually _tarred and feathered_ him?—completed the portrait of a man defeated. Neutered. This wasn’t Oswald.

 

 _The lights are on but nobody's home._ The excitement that Ed had felt when he had opened the door to see his old friend had all but disappeared by now. Now he just wanted this shell of the old Oswald out of his apartment. _You have things to do, plans to unfold,_ an impatient voice in the back of his head was reminding him. _Time to wrap this up._

 

"I'm really grateful for all that you've taught me, and that bad stuff you told me about Jim Gordon is really paying off. It's helped me to create the _perfect_ puzzle to get rid of my Jim Gordon dilemma. Normally, I would love to share, but to be honest…the new you is kind of freaking me out."

 

Oswald nodded quickly in understanding. God, he was so agreeable, so eager to please.

 

Ed hesitated. This new Oswald...while it was true that Ed couldn't trust him with his plans, perhaps he could prove useful in other ways? And the information he had already given Ed had worked out so well for him, it would be rude to throw him out without a token of his gratitude. He could at least get Oswald cleaned up before he sent him on his way.

 

Ed sighed. He supposed his plans could wait. "Well, you might look a bit less freaky if we cleaned those feathers off you. Come on."

 

Ed led Oswald into the bathroom where they pulled off his coat and hat and deposited them both in the bathtub. Ed doubted they were salvageable; they would have to see how many of those feathers they could pick off later. Soon Oswald was bent over the sink, head in the basin, while Ed scrubbed the stickiness out of his hair with baby oil.

 

"So, ah—your Jim Gordon puzzle?" Oswald asked, trying for casual and failing miserably.

 

Ed smirked. "What about it?"

 

"Well, you aren't—I mean, I was just wondering—he won't get hurt, will he?"

 

Ed didn't answer right away. He knew that Oswald and Jim had had a...complicated working relationship, and he had detected more than some fondness on Oswald's part for the detective. He could relate. There had been a time not so long ago when he had felt a similar sort of hero-worship for Jim, before Jim had begun poking his nose into business that didn't concern him. He had already told Oswald that he wouldn't let him in on his plans, but what harm would it do to put Oswald's fears to rest? And, if he were being honest with himself...having Oswald back in his home like this reminded him of the last time he had taken Oswald in, back when their friendship was still new. He hadn't had anyone to talk about this part of his life since then. OK, he hadn't had anyone to talk about _any_ part of his life since then, which is why, he reasoned to himself, he might be excused for letting Oswald in on part of his plan.

 

"Don't worry. The only harm that'll come to Jim Gordon is entirely of his own making. I called IA"—and here Ed couldn't contain the grin that spread across his face—"and informed them of his involvement in Galavan's murder. Thanks for telling me about the umbrella, by the way. That really sold it to them."

 

"Oh," was all Oswald had to say to that. Disappointing, really. Ed reasoned that the old Oswald, Oswald before Arkham had ruined him, would have been suitably impressed by the trap Ed had laid to ensnare Gordon. Oswald as he was now wasn't capable of appreciating the intricacies of his scheme, not that Ed could risk telling him the entire plan anyway.

 

"Aren't you worried that Jim might recognize your voice?" Oswald asked.

 

"I disguised it. And I didn't call the GCPD; I called IA."

 

"No, I meant if Jim ever got ahold of the recording."

 

Ed's fingers, which had been combing through a particularly bad knot of hair and feathers, stilled.

 

"What do you mean, the recording? IA records their calls?"

 

Oswald turned his head to the side to look up at Ed through soggy bangs. "IA secretly records all incoming calls. They keep a recording of all witness statements. I only know because..." Oswald looked down into the basin again in shame. "In my previous line of work it was useful to know these kinds of things. Made taking care of witnesses easier."

 

Ed's heart was racing. _Calm down; it's OK. IA would never give any of their records to Jim. And even if they did, your voice is disguised. He'd never know it was you._

 

"Ed? Are you OK?" Oswald had straightened up and was looking at him in concern. His hair, greasy from the baby oil, stood up in all directions.

 

"You said that you disguised your voice. I'm sure it's fine," he said, unknowingly echoing Ed's own internal voice.

 

"Right. You're right," Ed agreed, but he was already on to the next thought. If Oswald had known that about IA, what else might he know? Oswald's new lobotomized personality made it easy to forget the fact that he had until recently been a career criminal. Ed was potentially wasting a valuable source of information by keeping him in the dark about his plans.

 

_You don't have to trust him. And you don’t have to tell him everything. Maybe keep Officer Pinkney’s fate under your hat for the time being. He's so eager to please, it'll be easy to keep him under your thumb. As long as you spin it the right way, I'm sure he'll be happy to help an old friend._

 

"Oswald," Ed said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You've already been such a good friend to me, but I need to ask for your help again."

 

* * *

  

Convincing Oswald of the necessity of putting Jim behind bars was more difficult than Edward had anticipated. Apparently nodding along to Ed's gleeful explanation of his plans was fine, but Oswald's newfound morality prevented him from taking a more active role in things.

 

"I'm just not sure about this, Ed. Jim's my friend. He's always been good to me."

 

Ed quashed the violent impulse in him to snarl, _No, you little idiot, Jim's never been your friend. He's only ever seen you as a tool—were you just too stupid to see it or too pathetic to care?_

 

 _OK. You've been approaching Oswald's...personality shift as a hindrance to your partnership, but it doesn't have to be. Think of it as a puzzle, Ed. If appealing to his pride or his thirst for revenge won't work, you need to abandon those old methods and develop new ones. What is important to_ this _Oswald?_

 

"OK," Ed began. "Jim killed Galavan, right?"

 

Oswald nodded.

 

"And killing people is bad. Wrong."

 

More nodding, more emphatic this time. "Yes! Of course."

 

"Would a good person have done a bad thing like that?"

 

Oswald hesitated, his new programming clearly coming into conflict with his loyalty to Jim. Doubt was beginning to creep in and undermine his previous objections. Time for Ed to help it along.

 

"Think of it this way: did you like being in Arkham, or doing therapy?"

 

Oswald blanched. "No..."

 

"But…"—Ed took a breath—"Do you see now, how it changed you for the better? Unpleasant as it was, it was all for the best in the end, wasn't it?"

 

It was perhaps the most distasteful lie that Ed had ever told, and he had to work hard to school his face into the warm earnestness he was trying to convey.

 

"If it hadn't been for Arkham—if you hadn't been forced to face the consequences of your actions—you'd still be the bad man you used to be. You never would have..."

 

Ed struggled to think of a word to describe what had happened to Oswald in Arkham.

 

"Changed," he finished lamely. "Grown."

 

Oswald didn't seem to have picked up on Ed's hesitation, was looking at him thoughtfully. "You're saying that, by protecting Jim, I'm—I'm doing him more harm than good?"

 

" _Exactly_." Ed beamed. "If you're his friend—if you truly have his best interests at heart—you have to do what's right for him, no matter how crummy it feels. If you help me turn him in, Jim finally has to face the consequences of his actions, and that's the only way he can grow."

 

Ed grasped Oswald's shoulder firmly.

 

"The only way he can become as good a man as you."

 

Oswald looked down at that, and for a moment Ed worried that he may have laid it on too thick, but his fears were put to rest when Oswald looked back up again and smiled.

 

"Of course you're right, Ed. I'll help you."

 

* * *

 

They had ordered Chinese for dinner, over which Oswald happily divulged more of Jim's dirty little secrets while Ed mentally filed each one carefully away. Although Galavan's murder was really the only crime he needed to take Jim down, it didn't hurt to have a few more salacious little tidbits in his back pocket. Not to mention how entertaining it was to hear of Jim's short-lived and ill-fated stint as the Penguin's debt collector.

 

The more pressing matter, of course, was the recording at IA Ed pressed Oswald for information about his contacts at the precinct. Did he have an insider at IA currently? Could Oswald get in touch with them? Did he still have any pull with them?

 

Oswald was irritatingly evasive about the identity of this person—"This isn't a world you want to be any closer to than you already are, Ed. I've involved you in too much already"—but he did admit that there had been someone on his payroll working in IA before he was sent to Arkham, and he might be able to reestablish contact with him.

 

"Of course, he doesn't really have a reason to do anything I say. I'm not his boss anymore, after all," Oswald explained apologetically. "But I'll reach out to him and see if he wouldn't mind doing me this small favor, for old time's sake."

 

 _Sure_. So this wasn't looking like the most _promising_ angle, but Ed was reasonably confident that he would soon get the name from Oswald, and then he could deal with the man himself. Or else find some other way into the IA files. The recording would probably never even become an issue, Ed reminded himself for the umpteenth time that night. His voice was disguised, and no one would have any reason to be suspicious of it anyway, since they had Pinkney's signature on the witness statement.

 

 _And speaking of Pinkney_ … Ed thought as the cuckoo clock struck nine. It was too late now to put the final stage of his plan into action. Oswald's arrival had prevented him from returning to the precinct that day, so he hadn't been able to slip the false evidence report into the case file for Bullock to find. Looks like Oswald had unknowingly bought Officer Pinkney another day.

 

 _Tomorrow_ , Ed thought to quell the rising wave of anxiety within him. _Tomorrow I will pick up where I left off, and once again everything will be back on track._

 

* * *

 

Ed jerked awake. The darkness of the room told him that it wasn't yet morning. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling and wondering what it was that had woken him up when he suddenly became conscious of movement at his side. Something hit him hard in the shin.

 

"Ow," he muttered and reluctantly sat up as bits and pieces of the previous day started to come back to him. _Oswald_.

 

He turned to look at his bedmate. Oswald was kicking—thrashing—in his sleep, and making low moaning sounds. _Nightmare_. Ed sat still and listened. There was the hint of words in the noises Oswald was making. It took Ed a moment to realize what they were.

 

"Help…someone help me…"

 

 _Memories of Arkham?_ Ed wondered. He never actually asked Oswald what they did to him in there, and Oswald had never volunteered any information. Whatever it was, it must have been a pretty extreme kind of therapy to alter Oswald's personality so much in such a short time.

 

 _Electroshock? But could that have transformed someone's psyche like this?_ Ed had been under the impression that electroshock therapy altered moods, maybe damaged memory. _Perhaps aversion therapy? That might make sense. The doctor in charge of his treatment must have been devastatingly good at his job—_

 

Ed's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shout—"No!"—and a flailing arm that almost caught him in the face. _All right, time to wake him up._

 

Ed scrabbled for his glasses on the bedside table and put them on. Leaning over, he grasped Oswald's shoulder and shook it.

 

"Oswald. Oswald, wake up."

 

"No, no…Stop! Please stop!"

 

" _Oswald!_ " Ed patted Oswald's cheek firmly. "Wake up, you're dreaming!"

 

Oswald suddenly jerked in Ed's grasp and his eyes shot open. He stared right through Ed's face for a moment before his eyes slowly focused. Awareness followed soon after.

 

"...Ed?"

 

"Hey. You were having a nightmare. I thought it best to wake you up."

 

Ed moved back to give Oswald some space to sit up. Oswald leaned back against the headboard and hugged his good leg to his chest. He wiped away the dampness that had gathered at his lashes while Ed pretended not to notice. They sat there in silence for a few minutes while Oswald got his breathing under control.

 

"I—I'm sorry for waking you, my friend. I've been having trouble sleeping of late."

 

Ed shrugged. "It's fine." He cast around for something else to say. The last time he had Oswald crying in his bed he had been a completely different person. Through trial and error Ed had managed to figure out how to draw him out of his melancholy, but those lessons no longer applied. Presenting Oswald with some hapless criminal to butcher probably wouldn't do the trick this time.

 

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

 

Oswald took a deep, shuddering breath.

 

"So many nights I relive all the terrible things I did. All the people I hurt—" Oswald's voice cracked. Ed sighed internally. He really didn't want to listen to a maudlin confession of the sins of Oswald's past life. It was depressing enough just looking at the cowed version of the man he once knew, did he also have to witness his self-flagellation?

 

But instead of listing his crimes, Oswald began, "They had me do this therapy—"

 

Ed's irritation drained away and was replaced by curiosity. Hadn't he just been puzzling over this? He shifted a little closer to Oswald.

 

"They, ah…they put this contraption over your eyes…like a mask. They'd put it over your eyes and they'd inject you with something."

 

Despite the hesitations in his speech, Oswald seemed much calmer than he had a few minutes ago. He described things in a detached manner, as though they had happened not to him, but to someone else. He closed his eyes as though visualizing it.

 

"It made you see these visions. They were so vivid, they were so...It was hard to know what was real and what was not—the things I saw—"

 

Oswald's voice broke. His breath came quicker now.

 

"It was horrible. Once I saw my mother—my mother—"

 

Whatever calm Oswald had had at the beginning of his story shattered completely as he broke down in sobs that shook his whole body.

 

"It was _awful_ , Ed!"

 

"It's OK, you don't have to tell me about it." Ed awkwardly put his arm around Oswald's shoulder. Even though he had seen Oswald brought low before, he had never been this unconstrained in his grief. Ed wasn't sure what to do.

 

It didn't look like he'd be getting any more information about Arkham's therapeutic practices, either.

 

Oswald continued to cry. Ed rested his hand on Oswald's back, rubbing it slightly. He had thought that after Oswald had recovered from his gunshot wound and gone haring after Galavan that his days of playing Oswald's nursemaid were over. There were times when he envied Oswald's relationship with his mother—so foreign to have someone who loved you like that, it almost didn't seem real—but watching Oswald fall to pieces once again over the memory of his mother— _Not even! A memory of a memory of his mother!_ —Ed felt perversely grateful for his father's abuse, his mother's coldness. If this was the end result of such an attachment, reducing an adult man to hysterics in the middle of the night because of a bad dream? No, thank you. He was convinced more than ever of what he had told Oswald all those months ago—they were better off unencumbered.

 

Of course thinking about that conversation—remembering the cool edge of the knife held against his throat—reminded him of that other Oswald, the one that finally left his bed and regained his inner fire, spurred on by thoughts of revenge.

 

_It's not his entirely his fault he's like this. They really did a number on him in Arkham._

 

When Oswald's sobs had dwindled to the occasional sniffle, Ed finally addressed something that had been niggling at the back of his mind since inviting Oswald in.

 

"I'm truly sorry I never came to visit you, Oswald. I thought it would look suspicious, but..."

 

Oswald gave him a watery smile.

 

"Oh no, please don't feel guilty on my account, Ed! I told you to forget about me, after all. And I meant it. Anyway, Jim came to visit me."

 

Now _that_ was surprising.

 

"He did?"

 

"Well...he was at Arkham, not for _me_ , specifically. For a case, I assume. He's very busy. But he came over to talk to me for a bit. It was so good to see a familiar face again. Such a relief from the therapy!"

 

"Why didn't you tell Detective Gordon what they were doing to you?"

 

"I did."

 

"What?"

 

"I did tell him. I must have been quite hysterical now that I think of it. I was still quite angry with Professor Strange then. I hadn't yet realized the good he was doing for me."

 

Ed shook his head, trying to understand the implications of this. There was a steadily building heat inside his skull. He didn't like this.

 

"OK, so you told him about all this. And…and then what?"

 

"Well, Jim reminded me that I had to face the consequences of my actions—just like you pointed out before, Ed. And that the doctors were making me better."

 

"And he just left you."

 

Oswald must have noticed something in the flat way Ed spoke that made him uneasy.

 

"Well, yes, but..."

 

Oswald may have continued speaking then. Justifying Jim's abandonment. Ed couldn't tell. His head was suddenly full of that deafening heat pressing against the inside of his skull, muting the outside world.

 

 _He just left him there._ Ed could just picture it: that self-righteous prick lecturing Oswald about accepting punishment for a crime _he_ committed and walking away as though Oswald's screams and pleas were nothing to him—no more than the wordless cries of an animal. No, less than that, even. An animal he'd have more sympathy for.

 

Ed could feel his lips peel away from his teeth in a silent snarl. Yes, he knew exactly what that indifference looked like. Saw it on his mother's face every time he came to her crying after one of Dad's rages. Hurting and terrified, and all she could do was look at him through valium-blurred eyes, a million miles away, so close yet so unreachable, before retreating to her bedroom and locking the door.

 

"But Ed—" suddenly Oswald's voice was pulling him back to the present—"he was only doing what was best for me. Remember what you said? I needed to suffer to become the man I am now. Professor Strange saw it. Jim saw it, too."

 

Ed swallowed hard.

 

"Right."

 

Ed knew then that this was no longer just about protecting himself from Jim's investigation. This was now revenge. It wasn't just about himself any longer; it was about Oswald, too.

 

* * *

 

"If only you had taken care of it the first night like you had planned, you wouldn't be in this situation," Ed muttered to himself as he fished his keys out of his pocket and fumbled with the lock to his apartment.

 

It had been a long, tense day at work. Not content with trying to put him away for Kristen's murder, Jim was now hounding Ed for any leads on the Union Railway Station bombing, and Ed, who hadn't expected to have to maintain this ruse for so long, was hard-pressed to fabricate evidence compelling enough to send Jim off on a wild goose chase but inconsequential enough not to lead back to Ed himself. As if that weren't enough of a complication, Ed had been dismayed to learn that Officer Pinkney had the graveyard shift that night and wouldn’t be back at his apartment until the next morning, so Ed would have to delay his plans yet _another_ day.

 

Still berating himself under his breath, Ed opened the door and was immediately assailed by an unfamiliar scent—meat, certainly, with a slightly peppery smell—was that paprika? Ed made his way into the kitchen to find Oswald tending a large pot of something on the burner.

 

"Ed!" Oswald turned to him and smiled. "Perfect timing! Dinner's almost ready."

 

Ed stared in perplexity at the domestic scene before him. "...What is this?"

 

Oswald, unaware of the wider implications of that question, responded only to its most literal level. "It's goulash—my mother's recipe. I thought you'd like to come home to a home-cooked meal. And I wanted to thank you for the kindness you've shown me. Welcoming me into your home in my hour of need...again!" He smiled in self-deprecation.

 

Ed began to cheer up in spite of himself. It did smell good. His stomach growled in anticipation. He had been too anxious to eat anything all day, but now his appetite seemed to have returned with a vengeance.

 

Setting aside the worries that had dogged him all day, Ed set the table while Oswald spooned the goulash into bowls. They sat down to dinner, and for a while, everything seemed perfect. The goulash wasn't much to look at, but it tasted as good as it smelled, and Ed's hunger drove him to ask for seconds, and then thirds, which delighted Oswald. Oswald talked about his difficulties finding all the ingredients he needed, and how his mother used to make this for him on cold winter nights, and Ed let Oswald's chatter wash over him and restore his sense of calm.

 

After they had both fallen into a comfortable silence, Ed decided to bring up something that had been on his mind.

 

"Did you have any luck with your old contact in IA?"

 

"Ah." The cheerfulness that had previously animated Oswald's conversation fell away. "Unfortunately, no. Butch has been quite busy establishing himself in my absence. My name no longer carries the weight it once did."

 

"So he told you to get lost?"

 

Oswald grimaced. "In so many words, yes."

 

Ed sighed and dragged his hands down his face, the tension that he had been feeling all day returning.

 

"...What is it, Ed?"

 

Ed was suddenly angry—at himself or at Oswald, he wasn't sure. Why did he _ever_ think allowing Oswald to stay with him was a good idea? If it weren't for him, his plan would have been perfectly executed and Jim would be behind bars already.

 

"Do you understand," Ed began, slowly enunciating each word as if Oswald were a particularly stupid child, "what I am trying to do here, Oswald? How important it is that every single component of this plan is seamlessly executed? Jim is on to me, Oswald. He knows what I did to Kristen, and the only reason I'm not already in handcuffs is because he can't prove it yet. But every day he's still free is another day he gets to continue building a case against me. You want to express your gratitude, Oswald? How about you spend more time figuring out how to get that tape and less time bustling around the kitchen like a goddamn housewife?!"

 

Ed hadn't realized how steadily his voice had been increasing in volume until he heard the reverberations of his final shout echo around the room. Oswald's face over his half-finished second helping of goulash was shocked and pale.

 

Jerkily Ed rose to his feet and fled the room.

 

It was only after he shut himself in the bathroom that Ed realized how badly he was shaking. Heart pounding and short of breath, Ed gripped the edges of the sink as if clinging onto the cold porcelain could anchor his body and keep him from shivering into tiny little pieces on the bathroom floor.

 

Ed took a deep breath and faced himself in the mirror. "I'm OK. Things are still on track. I have this under control."

 

A hesitant knock on the bathroom door interrupted his thoughts. "Ed? Are you OK? Can I come in?"

 

Ed thought that if he raised his voice enough to answer Oswald, he might actually throw up.

 

After a moment's silence, Oswald made the decision for him. "I'm coming in, Ed."

 

Oswald opened the door and walked over to Ed. He hovered at Ed's side at first, then tentatively reached out and touched his arm. When Ed didn't immediately shake him off, he moved closer and held his arm more firmly. A comforting weight.

 

"Where is this coming from, Ed? Did something happen at work?"

 

Ed didn't answer.

 

Oswald sighed. "I want to help, Ed. You've been such a good friend to me, and I've only been a burden to you. I want to be better, Ed, I want to help you. But I can't do that if I don't know what's wrong."

 

Ed hesitated. Oswald's offer was so tempting. He had wanted to keep his plans for Pinkney to himself, but the anxiety that had pressed upon him all day, the isolation he had always felt at the GCPD, an isolation only temporarily relieved by Kristen's love, made him crave the relief that unburdening himself would bring. He lived every day surrounded by coworkers who either looked at him with irritation at worst or pity at best. And Jim, the one friend he once thought he had, now regarded him with suspicion and hostility.

 

Oswald, though. Oswald knew him. He saw Ed as he truly was, not just the mask that he wore in public every day. He knew the horrors that Ed was capable of and still called him a friend. Stood by him now, offering him comfort and help in his misery, and—despite his therapeutic brainwashing—without a hint of judgment for his past crimes. Not even dear Kristen had ever offered him that.

 

"I wasn't…entirely forthcoming when I discussed my plans with you earlier," Ed began, and finally let Oswald fully into his confidence.

 

* * *

 

Oswald took it better than Ed had feared he would, although he did need a little convincing.

 

"Does Officer Pinkney _have_ to die, Ed?"

 

Ed came down firm. "Yes. Initially I considered simply calling in the anonymous tip and letting justice take its course...before I remembered that this is Gotham. The course of justice often gets derailed." Ed smiled humorlessly. "Jim got off for Galavan's murder once before, and with Galavan's own involvement in Essen's murder now common knowledge, I couldn't imagine that Gotham's finest would be all that concerned with bringing his killer to justice. The death of a cop, however—that they would pursue. The GCPD takes care of its own."

 

Ed softened his voice and looked at Oswald beseechingly. "If I could do it any other way, I would, Oswald, but there's no other option. Pinkney has to die."

 

But Oswald kept pushing. "You're _sure_? You've looked at this from all angles, Ed?"

 

"I'm sure."

 

Oswald looked at Ed for a long moment, his face unreadable. At last he seemed to come to a decision.

 

"Alright, Ed. If you say it's the only way...I trust you."

 

Ed smiled, a growing sense of relief and satisfaction loosening some of the tension in his body. Of course Oswald would come around to his way of thinking. Oswald was his friend. He would do what was best for him.

 

"So now you know how important it is to get that recording? I need it to establish Jim's motive for killing Pinkney. If there's any chance it can be traced back to me..."

 

Oswald nodded. "I understand, Ed. I'll try other channels tomorrow." Then, to Ed's shock, Oswald allowed a small, sly smile to steal across his face. "I might still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

 

Ed laughed. For a moment, he could see a glimpse of the old Oswald in that smile. It was like Arkham had never happened, and they were back where they once were months ago, discussing Oswald's plans to exact revenge on Galavan, or debating where next to slice open the hapless Mr. Leonard.

 

Another thing Jim ruined. But for the first time since Oswald had shown up on Ed's doorstep, he had hope that his old friend could still be recovered.

 

* * *

 

Ed knocked on Pinkney’s door. He could hear the muted sounds of the TV in the room just beyond, but no sound of movement. He waited and knocked again. No answer. Ed huffed out an annoyed breath. His plans hadn't provided for the possibility that Pinkney might simply not answer. Had he fallen asleep on the couch? The TV was on, so he must be home. Should he try to break in? The success of his plan partly depended on Pinkney's opening the door for his killer—it needed to look as though Pinkney knew his murderer, had invited him in.

 

"Darn it," Ed grimaced as he grabbed the doorknob to rattle it in frustration, when to his surprise, the knob turned and the door opened easily into Pinkney's living room.

 

Ed stepped uncertainly over the threshold and looked around. The room was empty and dark, the only light coming from the glow of the TV set.

 

"Officer Pinkney?" he called out uncertainly as he stepped farther into the room. No response.

 

Something wasn't right. Ed wasn't sure what it was, exactly, that made him feel this with such certainty. Pinkney might just be in the bathroom down the hall. He might have stepped out of the apartment to do his laundry. There were any number of innocent reasons to explain Pinkney's empty living room, but Ed knew with a sudden, rising sense of panic that none of these was the case.

 

Before he could even react, a voice rang out through the apartment.

 

"GCPD! Drop the bag and put your hands over your head." Two officers, guns drawn, had suddenly appeared in the doorway.

 

Ed spun around and tried to bolt in the other direction, and came face to face with Jim Gordon. Jim stepped farther into the living room. His gun was still in its holster, but Ed noticed that the cop just behind him had his gun drawn.

 

"Ed. Do as he says. Put down the bag."

 

"Jim!" Ed's mind raced. Maybe he could still spin this. "I—I was just about to call you! I was supposed to meet Officer Pinkney here, but he appears to be missing—"

 

"Can it, Nygma." Captain Barnes's voice, followed by Captain Barnes himself, moving from the hallway into the apartment. "We know what you were planning for Pinkney. And what you did to Tom and Kristen. You're under arrest for the murders of Kristen Kringle, Tom Dougherty, and John Kelly, and for the attempted murder of Carl Pinkney."

 

Ed's throat was tight. His head whipped from Barnes to Jim and back again. Trapped. This was it. He knew it was over, felt it in his body. And he knew why.

 

But he still felt his head shaking in disbelief as his grip went slack and the bag fell heavily to the floor.

 

"How?"

 

He knew even before Jim said anything, but the words still shook him, hit his body with the force of a blow.

 

"Oswald told us everything, Ed."

 

 _Of course he did. Of course!_ How could Ed have been so arrogant as to believe he could overcome weeks' worth of extreme psychological conditioning in a matter of days? Or ever? He should have listened to his gut and kicked Oswald out of his home that first day.

 

"He told you." His voice sounded strange. The officers still hadn't put down their guns. There were five he could see. That seemed excessive. He supposed he should feel flattered.

 

"When?"

 

Jim’s face was stony. "He contacted me earlier today. We sent a few men out to the woods to verify his story."

 

Ed nodded. So that glimpse of the old Oswald he thought he saw last night—just wishful thinking. The Oswald he once knew was dead and gone. Plucked out of his head by those quack doctors at Arkham while his body was allowed to go through the motions like a wind-up toy. There was no coming back from that.

 

Was Oswald always going to betray him? Or was it Ed's confession last night that decided him? What did it matter? He did it just the same.

 

It was funny. Ed thought he'd made peace with the fact that Oswald was gone forever, but he felt like he was losing him all over again. Or—no. It was more accurate to say that he had always been lost to Ed, but he was only now realizing it.

 

"Hands where I can see 'em, Ed. We're taking you in now."

 

Jim was moving toward him, step by cautious step, hand resting on his holster.

 

"Oswald's explained things, Ed. He's told us there were...extenuating circumstances. You won't go to Blackgate, alright? We know you need...help."

 

Jim said the words as though they left a bad taste in his mouth. It was obvious he didn't believe them.

 

Hysteria was rising up inside Ed. Is that what Oswald had told them? Is that what the deluded little fool though he was doing? Getting Ed help?

 

 _"If it hadn't been for Arkham—if you hadn't been forced to face the consequences of your actions—you'd still be the bad man you used to be."_  
  


_"You're saying that, by protecting Jim, I'm—I'm doing him more harm than good?"_

 

_"Exactly...If you're his friend—if you truly have his best interests at heart—you have to do what's right for him, no matter how crummy it feels."_

 

Ed couldn't help it—the anger, the horror, the grief bubbled up inside, expanded and rose up until it burst out.

 

Ed laughed. He laughed as Jim stopped short, taken aback, as the other officers shifted uneasily and adjusted their grips on their weapons.

 

Ed paid them no mind. They didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

 

"Alright, Nygma," Barnes warned. "Let's just—"

 

Ed cut Barnes off, attention focused solely on Jim.

 

"Oh, how _merciful_ of you, Jim! Sparing weird little Ed from Blackgate—I guess you don't want any more blood on your hands. Much cleaner to destroy a man's spirit, huh? Don't worry about it, Jim. I'll save you the trouble either way."

 

And with that, he lunged at Jim.

 

"No, wait!" Ed heard Jim scream just as the first shots penetrated his body. He didn't even feel himself hit the floor, his whole being transfixed by the burning pain in his chest.

 

Jim was looking down at him. Was he saying something? He was too far away too hear. Too far away to speak. Too far...

 

* * *

 

"I'm so sorry, Oswald."

 

Jim rested his hand tentatively on Oswald's shoulder. At any other time, Oswald noted distantly, he would have thrilled to have Jim touch him with such tenderness or to be the object of the compassionate expression he knew, without looking, that Jim was giving him.

 

But all his focus now was on the still figure on the hospital bed before him. Ed's pale face, slack and almost peaceful, as if only sleeping. Ed's chest, rising and falling slightly with each shallow breath. Ed's long-fingered hands, pierced with tubes running up to the machines surrounding him. The beeping surrounding them all, filling the space with a constant reminder of the tenuousness of Ed's hold on life.

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

Oswald forced himself to interrupt the incessant rhythm.

 

"Will he be OK?"

 

There was a pause before Jim answered. "Well, he made it through surgery, so that's a good sign. But the doctors said the bullets did a lot of internal damage. There's a good chance he won't wake up, Oswald."

 

Oswald’s throat was so dry, his next question came out as a croak.

 

"Who?"

 

Jim looked at him in question.

 

"Who _did it_?"

 

Jim's expression immediately shuttered. He shook his head.

 

"Does it matter? They were officers doing what they had to do. Ed tried to attack me, Oswald. They had no choice."

 

Of course. They were just doing what they were trained to do. It was out of Jim's hands; he wasn't at fault. Nobody was at fault, but Ed was still hooked up to these machines, probably for the rest of his short life.

 

"I brought you here so you could see him one last time before he's transferred to Arkham. You won't be able to visit him there, so you should say…wherever you need to say now. I'll give you some privacy."

 

Jim stepped out.

 

Well, he got Ed into Arkham. Wasn't that what he wanted? Arkham, where he could be rehabilitated. Reintegrated into society. Just like him.

 

Oswald started to giggle.

 

Well, six of one, half-dozen the other! Comatose or rehabilitated, what did it matter as long as Ed was no longer a threat to society? He was as harmless as Oswald now, and wasn't that the important thing?

 

Oswald doubled over with the force of his laughter, clinging to the side of Ed's bed. His laughing breaths huffed into Ed's ear, like they were sharing a joke.

 

It certainly made no difference to the cops who shot Ed. Or to the doctors at Arkham. Or to Professor Strange. Or even to Jim Gordon.

 

 _Jim!_ Oswald stifled his laugher in his hands. It wouldn't do for Jim to come in and see him in such a state! Oh, poor Jim would be so confused. He wouldn't get the joke.

 

Well. Oswald would have to explain it to him, then.

 

The machines keeping Ed alive continued their steady beeping, and Oswald laughed and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated) Valentine's Day, Sharvie! I'm sorry it ended up being more pre-nygmobblepot than ACTUAL nygmobblepot. I did try to get them together, but they're both in such a weird headspace here, anything romantic felt forced. I hope you found something to enjoy in it, anyway! 
> 
> Oh, and because I suck at titles, I got mine from this quotation by Orson Wells: "We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone."


End file.
